Tuesday, I think

Edited today.
Pissed around a lot today after the dentist appointment.
Couldn't focus my energy.
Should have watched my recorded "Newsroom" first. That would have solved everything. I might have written a book or two...
Maybe this will explain it. I posted it on my FB page.

Sit back and get comfortable. This is going to take a few minutes...

When you get married, it's supposed to be such a celebration that you order a damn big cake. And you make sure you get it from a place that makes cakes extra delicious so it corresponds with the level of celebration. Think about that cake.*

Every once in a while, I'm out away from the city lights far enough that I can see falling stars. Even more rare is the night when this coincides with a meteor shower. A meteor shower is falling stars on Speed.  It's life rushing past you in fast forward. It's an event  the glory of which you wish you could record exactly as you see it, as you feel it, but no matter how someone tries, you really can't do it justice. It's the Universe falling at your feet.*

And while I'm typing this, my mind is in overdrive, trying to summon something else, anything else, that would be an appropriate metaphor for the condensed bliss of watching the show, The Newsroom.  Do any of you remember West Wing? Do you remember how closely you had to pay attention to get every delicious line that was fired out of a semi-automatic script? The Newsroom is West Wing times five. I can tell without looking that the writers from West Wing grew up and found a new job. Maybe they've even been taking steroids and I don't even care, unless they are going to suffer some horrible side effects, like cancer.

I wish I could share the rush of adrenaline I feel right now, and maybe it's just because I'm a writer who can appreciate how brilliantly those words were strung and then condensed by a Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Kids Machine so the maximum words possible could be spouted (by brilliant actors, I should add) in an hour.

(And when I mentioned bliss, I wasn't talking about anything as ubiquitous as sex. An hour long orgasm would leave you exhausted, not exhilarated. Or maybe that's just me.)

I'm getting in a little too deep here. You're probably tempted to roll your eyes, or walk away, bored. But I had to say something because...because it's kind of like when you desperately feel you should bare your testimony to someone. (Mormons will get this--they won't appreciate the analogy, but they'll get it.) But to writers I say, you MUST watch this show. You must find a way to write more intensely. You must find a way to push your intense fiction into the spotlight so I can have more adrenaline rushes when I read.

Stop being okay with your stories being okay when you could very well be writing the next Newsroom. If you're not standing on your desk when you write, you're doing it wrong. If you need a sturdier desk, sell your car and go get one. And if you don't have something important to say, for hell sakes don't make something up, go effing FIND something important to say. Go. Find it.

Or you don't get any cake, damn you.

(And now that I've got a fire under my butt, maybe I can get something done.)